


hold your breath and count to ten

by rywaen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rywaen/pseuds/rywaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is living a lie and his home life is suffering because of it, but such is the sacrifice of a secret agent employed by S.H.I.E.L.D. and fighting against the rival spy agency, Hydra. His husband, Bucky, just wouldn't understand. Then again, perhaps they're both keeping their fair share of secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold your breath and count to ten

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commissioned piece written for [Aimée](http://stevebottoms.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> Title is from Skyfall by Adele.  
> Check out the notes at the bottom for any terms you might not recognize within the story.
> 
> You can always find me on my [tumblr](http://skinnvsteve.tumblr.com) and find my commission info [here](http://skinnvsteve.tumblr.com/commish+donation)!

_“What about flowers? Everyone likes flowers.”_

“Do we have to do this now, Natasha?”

_“Why, is this not a good time for you?”_

“Not particularly, no!” Steve whispered harshly into the communicator shoved into his ear as he kept low and peered around the corner. So far, the mission was going smoothly, only a skeleton crew being inside of the base that Steve had to work around as planned.

It was a simple extraction mission; one of their contacts had been taken in by a cover operation for a rival company and needed to be pulled out before anyone got any information out of him. A one man job; a piece of cake and already nearly done at this point. While most people in such a situation were expendable, this particular contact had multiple uses to the company. Keeping him alive was paramount and making sure none of their secrets changed hands was an even bigger priority.

Infiltrating the temporary base was easy enough, especially since they had been scouting out this particular area for the past few months due to rumors being whispered of the property changing hands. It was currently being used just as a holding cell for the captured contact, Jasper Sitwell. In Steve’s honest opinion, he had been captured much too easily and couldn’t be trusted. But making judgment calls wasn’t his job. As an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve’s job was just to do the mission that he was given without asking questions.

At this point, he’d already made his way through the base, picking off a few of the guards that had wandered too close until he got to be in his current position, approximately three hundred feet from the door of the holding cell. There was a helicopter waiting to lift them out as soon as Steve had collected the target and had given the signal.  

The only drawback was that Agent Romanoff was the assigned pilot and his backup, and while she was the best of the best, she was also incredibly good at what she liked to call multitasking.

_“You didn’t answer my question. Yes or no for flowers?”_

“No, and I’m not doing this right now,” he whispered again, eyes glancing around quickly to make sure that none of the guards had heard him before he made his way over to the door. He hooked the scanner to the lock pad so that it could begin searching for the code and surveyed the hallway while he waited.

_“Fine, your loss. I know I guy who can put together amazing bouquets. I could probably get you a discount, too.”_

“Agent Romanoff, can you please focus?”

_“You know, I’m getting the feeling that you’re not very grateful to get my help and advice.”_

“Really. What gave you that idea,” Steve’s tone was flat as he finished scanning the pad to grab the code for the door and he punched it in, standing to the side while it slid open. He glanced around the corner, seeing only one guard near the entrance and he rushed him before he could raise the alarm.

_“You know, I consider us to be friends, but you should feel honored that I take time out of my busy schedule to help you out.”_

 “Right, because having you try to fix my marriage as your new hobby is exactly what I wanted,” Steve told her as he set the guard’s body off to the side where it would be hard to see. The less carnage he left in his wake, the more time he would hopefully have to get in and out with Sitwell in tow.  

_“Well, I’m not the one who hasn’t had decent sex in at least a year.”_

Breaking off into silence, Steve stopped at the corner and glanced down the last hallway to see if the coast was clear. There were two guards stationed just outside of the contact’s cell, both armed and ready to fire should anyone step into their line of sight. Deciding to go with precaution instead of being reckless, Steve pulled the pin on a flash bomb and rolled it towards them. The guard to the right shouted just before it could go off, the both of them staggering at the sudden assault to their senses.

Without giving either of the guards any time to regain their footing, Steve shot the both of them and moved to the cell door, inputting the code immediately. Sitwell was watching him through the small window in the door and Steve glanced at him just in time to see him pointing frantically over Steve’s shoulder.

Whirling around on his heel, he just barely got out of the way of the bullet that had been aiming directly at his skull. Having no time to reload, he got low and rushed at the man, grabbing him around the middle and shoving him hard against the wall before pulling his fist back into a brutal punch. The force of the push and the punch had the guard dropping his gun as he tried to block the Agent’s assault and he began fighting back as well as he could manage.

 _“How’s it going?”_ Natasha asked in his ear.

“How do you think it’s going?!”

“ _Alright, no need to shout.”_

The struggle continued for another minute before Steve could get a good enough grip on his throat to block off the oxygen to his brain and he dropped into unconsciousness and fell to the floor with a _thud_. To avoid any more sneak attacks, Steve quickly checked down the hallway again and reloaded his pistol before going back to the cell door to enter the code he’d already input into the keypad.

“Romanoff, we need that extraction now,” Steve said as the door unlocked and he pushed it open further to do a quick sweep of the cell before letting Sitwell out and instructing him to stay behind him at all times. He heard the man mutter, “Finally,” under his breath and just barely held his tongue instead of snapping at him. He was a friendly, he reminded himself, and there were multiple rules about attacking friendlies.

 _“Roger that, Rogers,_ ” she told him and he could actually hear the smirk in her voice as she said it.

“You know, it doesn’t matter how many times you say that, it’s never actually going to be as funny as you like to think it is.”

_“I know, but I’m still always going to have a better sense of humor than you.”_

Almost instinctively, Steve rolled his eyes as he led Sitwell down the hallway back out to the main corridor. Another quick sweep of the area and he directed the man to head to the elevator while he kept an eye on their surroundings. As they waited for the elevator to get to their floor, Steve heard footsteps approaching and he shoved Sitwell to press flat against the door of the elevator while he blocked him with his body, his eyes and the end of his gun both trained on the nearest corner.

“Hey!” Sitwell shouted, only receiving a tired sigh from Steve in return for his troubles.

“Mr. Sitwell, if you’d prefer to get shot, go right ahead and complain. Otherwise, just stay put until the elevator comes,” he told him as he fired off a round when one of the remaining guards peered around the corner. He managed to land the shot, as he saw the man drop with a pool of blood forming around his head and the other remaining guards shouted to rush them.

Thankfully for them, the doors slid open and Sitwell practically fell face-first inside, Steve stepping backwards into the lift and slamming his hand down on the button to close the doors. They began their ascent to the roof and Steve helped Sitwell up from where he was still struggling to right himself after his fall, having struggled to find his glasses.

“You okay?” he asked, getting a scoff in return.

“Fine, no thanks to you,” he sneered, shoving his glasses back into place just in time to see the frown on Steve’s face.

“Right. No thanks to me. Would you rather I left you here so that you could sit in that cell until Hydra finds a better use for you?”

Sitwell seemed to have at least some sense, since he decided to shut up at that, though that didn’t stop him from moping in the corner of the elevator until they got to the top floor.

“You ready for us, Nat?” Steve asked after making sure that he hadn’t lost his earpiece in the commotion.

_“All clear and ready to go.”_

“Good. We’re coming straight to you. Most likely have some of them on our tail coming up the stairs, so we’ll need to get out of here fast,” he told her, then turning to Sitwell. “Keep your head down and run as fast as you can to the chopper. I’ll be right behind you.”

The doors slid open and Steve practically shoved Sitwell out, his gun in hand still as he quickly did a sweep of the roof to make sure they hadn’t been beaten by any guards on the way up. Everything was clear, so he took off to the helicopter as well, staying no more than five paces away from Sitwell until they reached the chopper.

It was only when they’d all gotten settled in and began taking off did the remaining guards burst out onto the door to the roof, spilling out just in time to see them gaining elevation before taking off.

-x-

After a long day of work, all Steve honestly wanted to do was go home, maybe have a nice dinner, and relax. Of course, having the busy schedule that he kept, he couldn’t do that just yet once they’d arrived back at Headquarters. Sitwell had to be debriefed and checked in so that the different teams could do their things to make sure no information had been leaked and to find out exactly what they had wanted him for.

On top of that, Steve himself had to report in and file his mission report as soon as he got in, which was quite honestly ridiculous seeing as he was going to be right back in tomorrow morning and he could have easily done it then.

So, instead of being able to go as soon as his mission had been finished and checked off as a success, Steve was held up in Headquarters for another two hours after he’d arrived back.

“This is ridiculous, these rule changes are getting more and more tedious as they come along,” he complained to Natasha as he packed up his things and got ready to go, the redhead perched on his desk while she cleaned her gun.

“Talk to Sam about it, he’s got to follow the same rules as you,” she told him noncommittally, making him look up with one eyebrow raised.

“What, and you don’t?”

“Nope. Different division, different rules.”

“You know, last time I checked, you and I went on quite a number of missions together. That would usually mean that we’re in the same division.”

“Yeah, but I’m better than you. Duh,” she smirked and hopped off of his desk once her gun was put back together and in perfect working order. “Oh, that reminds me. Are you sure about not getting him flowers?”

Steve let out a deep sigh and reached up to rub at his temples. “I don’t think bringing my husband flowers would fix things, Natasha.”

“Hey, just trying to help,” she shrugged and leaned against the doorframe as she watched him finish getting packed up so that he could finally go. “You should do something for him, though. I mean, this is the same guy you wouldn’t shut up about when you first met him all those years ago. If you love him, try to fix it.”

“You and I both know it’s not that easy,” he reminded her as he stood up and adjusted his bag so that the strap was slung over his shoulder. He edged past her and began down the hallway, Natasha’s heels clacking on the floor as she kept pace beside him.

“Either way, I’m rooting for you, Mr. Smith,” she met his eyes and smiled as she squeezed his shoulder comfortingly before going back the way they came to get back to work. Steve, on the other hand, took a deep breath before finally leaving S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters and making his way back home.

After traffic and having to go around one accident on the road, Steve finally arrived home and was able to walk through the door just as the clock struck seven. The chimes from the grandfather clock in their entrance hall echoing through the house as Steve stepped through the door from the garage and into the kitchen.

 “Freeze.”

The voice came directly from his left and he froze in place immediately, his pulse speeding up and his instinct to attack whomever it was rising up as his hand itched to grab the gun that was strapped to his back just under his coat. But before he could move, he heard the sound of a shutter and he breathed out slow and turned to see Bucky standing there with his camera pointed at him.

“Jeez, Buck, you scared me half to death,” he told him with a smile, though his heart was still racing. To think, he almost shot his husband just for taking his picture. “What are you doing?”

“The lighting was good when you walked in,” he explained, looking down at the screen on his camera and flipping through a few photos.

“Well, hi to you too,” he greeted, stepping towards him to press a kiss to his cheek and receiving one in return even as Bucky’s eyes stayed on his camera. The brunet simply hummed in reply and turned on his heel to walk further into their home.

Steve watched him go with a sad smile as he shrugged off his coat and folded it over his arm. In the six years that they had been married, they’d spent at least four of them drifting further and further apart. Part of that, in Steve’s opinion, was his fault since he couldn’t be honest with Bucky about who he was and what he did for a living. As far as Bucky knew, Steve was a district manager at a law firm stationed downtown, traveling a lot for meetings and staying late hours to work on cases.

The other factor in why they had been drifting was Bucky’s accident four years ago. He had been a mechanical engineer, working for a big factory at the time and dealing with large equipment and dangerous situations. When Bucky had been working for almost eighteen hours straight, he had slipped from a catwalk and his left arm had gotten stuck in between two of the moving parts of the machine he had been working on fixing.

There had been nothing that the doctors could do but amputate his arm, throwing Bucky into a downward spiral of depression, PTSD, and unemployment.

By some miracle, he had been chosen to be a part of a program to help severely wounded workers get back on their feet and he had been fitted with a prototype for a new kind of prosthetic that gave him more freedom of movement and feeling than a normal prosthetic did. It gave him the ability to use both arms again, but it didn’t help with the mental and emotional strain that still weighed down on him hard. And though the prosthetic was mostly made of a lightweight metal for the structure and a layer of synthetic flesh to cover it, it still wasn’t the same.

Having needed a change of pace once he’d fully recovered, Bucky had begun looking into using his hobby as a photographer as a career instead of going back to doing what he had been before. It freed up the stress of working with his prosthetic arm in a dangerous work environment like before, and it gave Bucky the freedom of making his own schedule.

Still, no matter what Steve did, it seemed like there was no way for them to bridge the canyon-sized gap that had formed between them over the years. When he wasn’t away for work, Bucky was usually on his own trips for his photography or hidden away in his darkroom. There were times when Steve would wake up and do his best not to move the mattress so that he wouldn’t disturb his husband, only to find him missing when he looked over to see if he was still sound asleep. Whenever that happened, all he would find that was left behind was a note on the fridge, kept in place by one of their magnets.

He couldn’t blame Bucky, nor could he blame what had happened to Bucky either. If anything, he blamed himself for not being able to be wholly honest with him or to give him all of the time he had in the world to helping him get better when it had first happened.

Sighing softly, Steve made his way to the front entrance and hung his coat in the closet by the door, taking a few moments while he was there to open up the secret compartment that he had installed in the wall to stow away his pistol and his knife that he kept strapped to his side. With that done, he went to the dining room to see if Bucky had already set up dinner for the both of them.

Like most days when they were both home, Bucky had set out two servings of whatever food he’d made or ordered for them at either end of their table. The brunet was already sitting at his end of the table, rubbing absently at the junction between his arm and the prosthetic while he waited for Steve to arrive. They exchanged a quick smile each when Steve sat opposite Bucky and they both got settled in.

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Steve observed as he picked up his fork and nodded pleasantly, “One of my favorites.”

“I know,” Bucky replied without even looking up at Steve, a silence then beginning to stretch between them, the only sound being that of their utensils against their plates.

The rest of dinner was just as tense as it had been when it began, neither of them speaking more than two words during the time it took for them to each finish and take their dishes to the kitchen to wash up. Steve placed his dishes in the dishwasher, arranging them so that they wouldn’t clink together, but as soon as he turned away, Bucky pulled them out again to rinse off what Steve hadn’t bothered to.

They moved around one another, cleaning and straightening up things with precision that came from years of practice, but neither of them spoke. The air between them was tense and thick, but neither of them made an effort to clear it away with small talk or smiles.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve got a business meeting starting tomorrow that I’m going to be away on for a few days. Shouldn’t be more than a day and a half or two,” Steve told him as they stood side by side at their dual sinks in the master bathroom, both of them getting ready for bed.

“That’s fine. I’ve got a photo shoot I’m doing tomorrow, not coming back until the next day either,” Bucky replied as he finished brushing his teeth and reached up to grasp his shoulder as he rotated his arm. The expression that crossed his face was anything but pleasant and Steve frowned as he watched him in the mirror.

“Is your arm bothering you?” he asked, getting a noncommittal shrug in return. “Maybe you should reschedule if it is. You remember what happened last time.”

“I’ll be fine, Steve. It’s nothing. Probably just the weather turning.”

“Buck—“

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, his expression crossing from furious to soft and calm again in a split second. “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself, you know.”

For a few beats, Steve just watched him in the mirror as he ran a comb through his hair – which was really getting pretty long for him, it was time for both of them to get a trim it seemed – only nodding once their eyes met in the mirror again. “I know you can. I just worry. You know me.”

“Yeah, I know,” he smiled softly, stepping close to him and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, then patting his shoulder and turning back towards their bedroom. “I’m going to sleep. Turn the light out when you’re done.”

Steve wasn’t sure which hurt worse; the fact that the smile that Bucky gave him hadn’t even come close to reaching his eyes, or the fact that when he got into bed beside him, the brunet shied away from his touch as he’d done almost every night before this.

-x-

Even before Steve could wake up the next morning, Bucky was already out the door and on his way to the airport. His bags had been packed and ready to go well before Steve had arrived home the night before, tucked away for him to grab and go.

While he hadn’t exactly lied when he said that he was going to be gone for two days, just as Steve was which wasn’t odd for them, but he had lied about exactly where it was that he was going. In fact, his entire life was a lie when it came to what Steve knew about him.

His name, while James Buchannan was his real one, was not James Buchannan Smith as he’d told Steve, and it certainly shouldn’t have been the name that Steve had chosen to take as his own. He had never actually gone to college, hadn’t even had the chance, let alone seen the point of spending all that money just to keep learning useless information.

James also hadn’t let anyone call him Bucky since he was six years old before Steve had come along. He was only known as Agent Barnes to Hydra, or by codenames that sometimes were used. James was his proper name, Smith was his false last name, and Buchannan was the terrible name that his mother had picked out for him and had just sort of stuck with him all this time.

He had also never been an engineer a day in his life. Photography, while it was something he used to be interested in as a kid, hadn’t been something he’d ever really had much of a passion for, but at least he knew how to aim and shoot well enough. That sort of thing seemed to go hand in hand with being able to look through a scope and hit the center of the target from an impossible distance.

And of course, Steve could never know any of this.

Steve, who was so sweet and kind and loving with him from the very start didn’t deserve to be fed one lie after another, but there was really no other option for Bucky. For being a spy under the service of Hydra, a sister branch to the Russian SVR, Bucky had a pretty decent life. He got to have a life outside of the service, or at least part of one that he could live with Steve, and Hydra had saved his life by providing him with a new, better arm when the old one had been lost.

So, no, he was not going to a photo shoot as he had told Steve. He had been assigned a new mission that was to take place on the Canadian-American border that evening. There was an important informant that was crossing the border and was being placed in Agent Barnes’ care as they traveled from the border to the nearest safe house.

It was a standard procedure for Hydra and all of its agents to treat those that helped their cause with respect, kindness, and protection until otherwise stated. In his time serving Hydra, the number of escort missions that he had successfully completed was most likely well into the hundreds, so it was safe to say that he was as good as any to take care of this job.

Traveling, while it was the easiest part of the job, was also his least favorite part. Depending on the distance, it could be between hours or even days to get to the site of the mission and while he was an expert in the art of patience, he despised waiting.

At least in the airplane, he could sit in the relative silence of the cabin, letting the pressure of the change in elevation press into him from all sides and make him feel smaller than he was.

From the airport, he had an unmarked car waiting for him to take him to the meeting point. The driver didn’t bother trying to engage him with small talk and so he was able to ignore him, watching the sun sink below the horizon as they drove.

The cold seeped into his joints and chilled the metal beneath the synthetic skin of his arm, making him shiver minutely before he could properly cover himself in his larger coat as he exited the car. As soon as the door shut behind him, the unmarked car sped off and James began making his way to the designated exchange point. He would be the only one there for the next half hour at least, but that gave him plenty of time to secure the area before the informant would be dropped off for him to begin his guard.

With his coat, gloves, and scarf on, he was almost completely covered; only his eyes and the top of his head were still exposed to the elements. Part of this was due to the cold, while the other part was due to Hydra’s preference to keep their agents faceless. They had to, for the sake of the cause and the company. There were hundreds of thousands within Hydra’s employ alone, not to mention those directly involved with the SVR, so the less people knew about individual agents, the better.

After a quick scan of the area, he settled with his back against the trunk of a nearby tree and waited. A slow but steady layer of snow was beginning to cover the ground, making the already quiet night even more muted. Flakes of the snow got stuck to his hair and eyelashes as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, listening to the quiet stretch of land.

It was funny; he had always hated the cold but he often felt so comfortable in it.

By the time he reopened his eyes, he heard the distant sound of a car engine coming his way and with a quick check of his watch he knew that it was right on time.

As the car approached and came to a stop, Bucky watched from his vantage point behind the tree, keeping a close watch on the car, its passengers, and their surroundings. They wouldn’t have put him on bodyguard duty for a simple drop-off, so his senses were all on high alert.

The one he was meant to guard looked to be barely old enough to even be working with Hydra, let alone be a very important informant that had to be treated with the utmost respect. If anything, this person, this _child_ – for that’s what he was, couldn’t be older than sixteen with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks and around his middle – might have been the child of a superior. The worst case scenario was that this was a trap; the only question remained was for whom was it laid?

He stepped away from the tree and approached the car, the boy’s eyes going wide when he caught sight of him and he took a step back, instinctively hiding behind someone else instead of facing his own problems head on. Bucky regarded him with a curious stare before turning to the boy’s handler. She was an older woman, gray hairs wispy and ghostlike around her head from where they had escaped from the bun that held her hair in place.

“He will need to be watched and protected at all times. There is no room for failure.” Bucky nodded and he shook her hand with his own flesh and blood one. “Hail Hydra,” she said it as both a farewell and to show her loyalty.

It was lucky for her that she turned back towards the car when she did, or else the bullet that pierced through her shoulder would have hit her heart instead. The boy screamed as she fell against the side of the car, struggling with the handle to quickly get back into the safety of within. As soon as the shot rang out, Bucky had drawn his own weapon, aiming in the direction from which the bullet had come. It was unfortunately too dark to see the enemy that had snuck up on them. Still, his eyes scanned the area as the car sped away and the boy hid behind him, gripping his coat with nearly frozen fingers.

“Oh god, I want to go home, holy shit,” the boy sobbed as he shook. “Don’t let them kill me, please.”

Not bothering to answer, he instead held up his hand to try and make the boy shut up so that he could listen and pinpoint where the enemy was. Usually, he would have preferred to go after the assailant directly and give them no time to continue their attack, but with the boy to protect, he had to change his tactics.

As soon as he heard the sound of movement, he shot at the sound, three rounds being fired as he saw the dark shadow dart through the darkness and slip in the snow. With each round fired, the boy flinched against his back and sobbed even harder. Bucky sighed and quickly turned towards the boy and met his eyes.

“Get on my back and keep your head down. Hold on as tight as you can,” he instructed, giving him no time to argue as he turned his back towards him again and he felt him hop up onto his back and his arms wound tight around his throat until he got settled and gripped his shoulders instead. For a teenage boy, he was incredibly light, probably underweight or younger than he had assumed. Whatever the case may be, Bucky immediately began moving when he had the boy in place on his back, keeping his chest towards where he had last spotted the enemy.

There was a temporary safe house cabin a mile away, stocked with enough food and supplies to last a party of five up to a week. If they could get there, they could at least regroup before he went to launch a counterattack. On his person, he had all of the skills and weapons that he would actually need to take down this one assailant, but the boy was a factor that he hadn’t added in. An adult to protect, they were easier; if you told them to run and not look back, they turned tail as fast as they could.

Teens and children in the business, if their hearts hadn’t been hardened by hate or distrust, they clung to whatever comfort and protection they could find. And right now, this boy’s only protection was Bucky.

Meanwhile, every single one of his senses were screaming at him that this was a trap. He was meant to be protecting an informant that was important to the cause, not a teenage boy who cried at the first sight of blood.

The sound of movement being even closer than it had been before had him aware that they wouldn’t be able to even get close to the cabin without engaging in a fight first. Moving fast, he sprinted through the trees to put some distance between them and the enemy before choosing one of the larger trees and kneeling in front of it so that the boy could get down.

“You’re going to stay as quiet as you can, okay? What’s your name?” he whispered, meeting the boy’s tearful eyes again.

“T-Toby.”

“Alright. You’re going to climb this tree, Toby. I’m going to give you my coat and you’re going to put it on and sit in this tree until I come back. Don’t make a sound.”

When he’d gotten a nod in reply, Bucky leapt up and grabbed one of the stronger branches of the tree with his left hand and reached down to take Toby’s hand with his right. The boy was hesitant to take his hand and even with their limited amount of time, he reminded himself to be patient with this boy. He was, after all, the one he was meant to guard. With their hands clasped, he pulled him up so that he was sitting on the first branch of the tree, then helped push him up further as he climbed up higher and hugged the trunk.

Knowing he didn’t have much time left, Bucky shrugged out of his jacket once he’d dropped back down to the ground, the cold hitting him instantly even though he had two other layers beneath the coat. It clung to the metal of his arm and chilled him from the inside out, but he ignored it in favor of tossing the boy his coat and drawing his pistol again.

Adjusting his scarf over his face, his eyes narrowed as he stalked away from the tree, scanning the area with both his limited amount of sight in the darkness and his keen sense of hearing.

The stretch of land was mostly quiet, the sound still dulled by the softly falling snow, the only noise being that of his own feet crunching through the light snowfall. Once he’d stopped moving, being far enough away from the tree where he’d left the boy, he could focus.

As soon as he heard movement, he turned toward the source, that being the enemy that was standing in the little light that there was provided by the moon. Much like himself, the man was covered to combat both the cold and to keep people from seeing his face, bulky under his shirt probably both from muscles and a bulletproof vest.

Without waiting, Bucky let off one shot that was meant to kill the man where he stood, letting off another when it missed its mark. Having no time to reload, he pulled out one of his knives and instead rushed at him, blocking a punch to his face with his left arm.

The man cursed at the feeling of his fist hitting metal instead of flesh and bone, his eyes going wide as he looked up at him. His moment of pause gave Bucky an opening to slash at the man’s throat and kick him in the solar plexus when the blade missed its mark. He watched as the enemy tumbled backwards and managed to right himself again with a quick flip, though he slipped a small amount when he landed on a patch of wet grass.

Taking the time to reload his gun, he aimed for the man’s head again just as he ducked and rushed at him like a quarterback. Cursing, he pulled out his knife again instead and slashed as he sidestepped, getting sideswiped by his arm when he changed direction at the last moment. His leg shot out to trip the man up as they both fell to the cold, wet ground, a cry of pain telling him that he’d managed to make the man twist or break his ankle. Good. He wouldn’t be able to get away now. Now on the ground, Bucky rolled to the side to get his balance back, his scarf slipping and exposing his face as he got on his knees and was able to fire off another shot, this time managing to hit.

The lack of an agonized cry of pain let him know that he hit the bulletproof vest instead of flesh, but the force of the shot had him on his back anyway. The enemy groaned and tried to push himself onto his elbows, but it was too late. He had the upper hand and it was over for this man. Cocking his gun, he stood, taking a moment to brush himself off as walked over at a leisure pace to finish the job.

One shot to the skull would be all it took and he could go on with his actual mission. But before he could pull the trigger, bright blue eyes locked on his face when he got within the man’s sight, a gasp coming from his throat. “Bucky?!”

He froze, his limbs shaking both from the cold and hearing that name, that voice that he knew so well. Staring down at him, he realized with a sick sense of recognition that he knew those eyes that were looking up at him with horror.

But it couldn’t be. There was no way that this was Steve. Steve, his sweet Steve who had still tried his best to love him after Bucky was no longer the man he had met in Berlin and had danced with even though the blond couldn’t dance to save his life. Steve, who was the most important person in his life, even when he couldn’t bear to touch him as he used to, knowing that he wasn’t good enough for him.

 Reaching down, he tore away the mask from his face, fully ready to still put a bullet between his eyes because it _couldn’t_ be Steve. It was some imposter, meant to make him fail, placed there for Hydra to test him. They had matched this man’s eyes to Steve’s so that they could see whether that was enough for him to fail. It couldn’t be Steve.

Except that it _was_.

Taking away the mask, he couldn’t deny the fact that his husband, his _Steve_ , was the one with a bullet stuck in his vest and with snow seeping into his clothes. The one that he had tried to kill, had shot at, had purposely made him twist his ankle so that he couldn’t run like a wounded animal that was no better than prey.

“Steve—“ he whispered, choking as he stumbled back and looked at him in horror, not at all sure what to do.

How did this happen?! Steve was supposed to be in Chicago! He worked at a law firm, for chrissake! There was no protocol for this. No training to be done and memorized and practiced over and over and over until he was covered in blood and sweat. There was nothing but fear and growing panic.

“Buck, what—Bucky!” Steve shouted as Bucky suddenly turned on his heel and ran, needing to get as far away from Steve as he possibly could. It was a miracle that Steve couldn’t get up and follow since Bucky had made sure that he twisted his ankle during their fight. It was even more of a miracle that Bucky managed to remember to go back to Toby and take him with, get him out of this frozen wasteland and back to the safe house where the other Hydra operatives were meant to come pick them up.

The boy asked him if he was alright when he returned, but Bucky just told him to climb onto his back and keep quiet.

-x-

The handlers didn’t ask him about Steve. He didn’t tell them. He didn’t speak at all. He only watched as they took Toby with them and his own helicopter landed with his handler in the passenger seat. Climbing into the back, he huddled in the seat, his legs pulled up to his chest even as his handler came to the back to talk to him.

“What’s wrong, Barnes?” His voice was harsh and rough, not concerned or worried in the slightest, though he hadn’t ever expected him to be.

“There was an extra player there.” Pausing, he licked his lips and swallowed, his throat dry and raw “He got away.” He kept his eyes on the landscape rushing along below them, watching as it changed from white and forested to flat and dull.

“You let him live?!” he asked, hissing at him, his tone laced with both anger and surprise. Every mission he took was a success, every loose end tied up nice and neat with a bow. He didn’t let people go when they got in his way.

“He got away. I neither let him live or killed him, he managed to escape.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“No,” he lied without taking even a second to think. “But I’ll find him.”

“Good. You have forty-eight hours to eliminate him.”

Not able to bring himself to even say a simple ‘yes, sir’, he simply nodded and continued watching the landscape change beneath them.

-x-

Bucky went home, even when he knew of the possibility that Steve was waiting there to kill him as soon as he walked through the front door. He had nowhere else to go. He had nowhere else that he would rather be than at home with Steve, even if he had to fight him tooth and nail.

It was almost seven the next evening when he arrived home, the house dark and silent as he walked through the front door.

Keeping himself armed was a decision he hadn’t made lightly; keeping himself armed while within their house meant that he was accepting the fact that he may have to physically fight Steve. Again. It wasn’t something that he wanted to do, but it was something that he might be forced into doing. And with that in mind, he also decided that he wasn’t suicidal, nor was he willing to just sit by passively as Steve or others in his company came in and attacked him.

With his gun strapped to his side, a line of knives on his thigh, and his arm unrestricted by multiple layers of fabric, he went to the kitchen to make something for dinner. It was dinner time, after all.

Just as he began reading the instructions on the back of a frozen pizza, he saw the lights from Steve’s car pulling up the driveway. Peering out the window, he saw Steve exiting the car and watching the house for movement. He was limping, but he was alone. Judging by the way his coat sat a bit oddly against his side, he was armed as well.

So much for dinner, then.

Bucky set the box down and took his place just behind the wall between the hall and the kitchen, able to keep an eye on the door using the mirror on the wall across from him. He watched as Steve pushed it open cautiously, glancing this way and that, including behind the door before stepping inside and spotting the frozen pizza box on the counter.

He knew that he wasn’t in the house alone, just as Bucky wanted. If he had wanted him to think that he was alone, he would have taken measures to make him believe such a thing. But this way, Steve knew from the start that he was here, and how he reacted to that knowledge would tell Bucky how he should approach this situation.

As Steve glanced around again, his hand went to his side, hovering close to his gun. Bucky frowned and brushed his fingers against his pistol as well.

“Buck?” Steve called out, slowly making his way further into the kitchen and glancing around at every step he took. “I know you’re here, hon. We should talk this out before things get crazy.”

“Are you just saying that so that you can shoot me when I step out, baby?” he asked, the sudden sound of his voice making Steve jump just slightly, his hand still on his gun as Bucky watched his reflection lock onto his location.

“No, I’m not,” he defended, though they both knew that they were masters in the art of lying. “How about, you don’t shoot, I don’t shoot. We just talk this out and figure out what happens next.”

“What if what happens next ends up being that we both draw our weapons and shoot first, ask questions later?”

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t go that far.”

For a few moments, Bucky stayed silent as Steve inched his way closer to where Bucky was, though the brunet had already moved from that spot to the next vantage point he had picked out at the top of the stairs.

The seconds ticked by as Steve made his way to where Bucky had been, peering around the corner slowly and letting his expression fall from hopeful to confused as he saw that his husband was nowhere to be found. Had he honestly expected him to stay in one place for that long?

“You were given the order to kill me, weren’t you?” he asked, voice echoing down the stairs and he watched Steve’s head whip around and stare at the stairs as he pressed his back to the wall. He could see his outline from where he sat and he could make out the movement of him swallowing. “It’s okay, Stevie, they gave me the same order.”

“Did—“ he paused clearly still not entirely sure where they stood. “Did you tell them it was me?”

Bucky considered lying momentarily, wondering what Steve would do if he said that he had, that he had known from the start, that their entire life together had been a lie. But a thought struck him; what if he was the one being lied to?

“No,” he said shortly, keeping his eyes on Steve and doing his best to gauge his reaction. “Did you tell S.H.I.E.L.D that it was me?”

“How did you know that I work for S.H.I.E.L.D?”

“You just told me.”

Steve’s reply was a huff and a breathy laugh, making Bucky grin despite their situation, just knowing that the blond was rolling his eyes at himself.

“No, I didn’t tell them.” He paused, shifting in place as he tried his best to get a glimpse at Bucky’s location. “And if what I saw last night was true, you work for Hydra, right?”

“This is either the worst coincidence in all of history, or one of us has been lying from the very beginning,” the brunet pointed out, still keeping the pads of his fingers pressed to his pistol. “So, am I your cover, or what?”

“I was just going to ask you the same question.”

“I asked you first.”

“Fine,” Steve breathed, taking a moment before he answered, most likely deciding whether or not he should lie. “You were only ever the love of my life. The cover came after we were already married.”

Honestly, Bucky wasn’t sure if that made him feel relief or dread. In terms of his love life, that meant that maybe they could make it out of this situation, so long as neither of them ended up dead. But as for his professional life, well, he didn’t think he’d be getting any gold stars from the superiors at Hydra any time soon.

“Your turn,” Steve reminded him, and this time it was Bucky’s turn to decide whether or not he should lie. If he told him the truth, they could possibly work together instead of against one another, but they would end up being hunted by both S.H.I.E.L.D and Hydra. If he lied, one of them would most likely be killed, if not both by the time their companies were done with them.

“The truth is,” he began, pausing to swallow and bite the inside of his cheek, not at all sure about his decision. He sighed heavily and shook his head, knowing that Steve couldn’t see him. “Truth is, you’re the love of my life as well.”

Even with the distance between them, Bucky heard Steve’s sigh of relief as clear as day, which only seemed to push the figurative knife into his heart further.

“That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve been ordered to kill each other, Steve,” Bucky reminded him, his tone harsher than he had meant for it to be. “Not to mention that, personally, I’m not very fond of the alternative when it comes to obeying Hydra’s orders. Kill or be killed, you know?”

“Look, we’ll figure it out—“

“No, Steve, you don’t get it. I _can’t_ fail. I’ve _never_ failed.”

“Bucky—“

Not waiting any longer, Bucky came out from his hiding place at the top of the stairs and made his way down, his expression hard and unyielding even when he met Steve face to face again. It didn’t change even when Steve rushed forward and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered, his arms at his sides as he let Steve hug him tight.

“I think that if anyone could understand, I could,” Steve told him with a smile as he drew back, only to have his smile disappear when Bucky shoved him back, knife in hand.

“If I don’t kill you, Steve, they will,” he whispered, eyes shining in the small amount of light that was in the hallway, bright with tears that threatened to spill.

“Bucky, stop. We can handle this together. We can—“

“Fight me,” he growled.

“I’m not going to fight you, Buck.”

“Fight me!” he screamed, punching the wall beside Steve’s head with his left arm, his chest rising and falling as he began breathing much too quickly. “ _C’mon_!”

“James,” Steve murmured, reaching up to cup his husband’s cheek, feeling the wetness of tears there that had already fallen. “Baby, it’s okay. Shh, it’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

Without warning, Bucky fell into sobs, his shoulders shaking as he curled into himself, his face pushing against Steve’s neck as he dropped the knife and held onto him as tight as he could. Steve began stroking his hair and his back, whispering into his ear and doing his best to comfort him as they both sunk down to their knees on the floor.

Steve kissed at Bucky’s skin, his face, his lips, brushing away tears with his lips and his fingertips, comforting Bucky in all the ways that he knew how and he let him grip his shirt tight, grip his skin tighter. They moved from kissing lightly to fiercely, teeth and tongues gnashing as Bucky’s mood shifted from one extreme to the next. He wasn’t going to lose Steve, but he had spent so long without him, without _this_ , he needed as much of him as he could get in that moment.

Their shirts got lost in the struggle to rid each other of their clothing as fast as they possibly could, Steve’s lips landing on the scars on Bucky’s arm, on the bits of metal that could be seen on his shoulder and his chest that showed the truth about his lost limb. Hands explored places that hadn’t been properly touched in years, shaking with a mixture of relief and fear that this would be taken from either of them in a split second. Any moment could be their last if the clock ran out.

That thought had Bucky’s teeth finding purchase on Steve’s collarbone, biting down hard and sucking at his skin until it was red and raw, marking him as he hadn’t done in the longest time. The feeling of Steve beneath his hands, beneath his lips, moaning at the feeling of his teeth; all of it relit a fire that had died down to smoldering ashes in his gut, now roaring to life again.

Their fingers both struggled with pants and underwear, getting tangled together and making them have to pause and laugh, lips stretched into smiles against skin. It was a familiar song and dance between them, but it would be lying to say they weren’t both rusty.

They couldn’t make love, not properly, not while they were tangled together on the hallway floor with nothing but their skin and sweat between them. But Bucky’s fingers wrapped around Steve’s cock and it sent the familiar current of live electricity down his spine and it was all he needed. This was all he ever needed, straddling Bucky’s lap as the brunet kissed at his chest and stroked the both of them, slowly at first, gaining speed over time in just the right way.

Steve’s blunt nails dug into Bucky’s back as his own spine arched and bowed as he writhed in pleasure on his husband’s lap.

“I love you, Steve. Never stopped, but I missed you,” Bucky whispered against his skin, making Steve lean down to press their lips together again.

“Missed you too.”

They came one after another, making a mess between them but neither of them could do much other than lie back and tangle their fingers together as they stared up at the ceiling and laughed.

“When was the last time we did that?” Bucky asked, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“Probably around your birthday, maybe two years ago?”

“Jesus.”

“I know, the hell is wrong with us?”

“I dunno, maybe the fact that we’re both employed as spies to two rival companies might be an issue.”

“Oh, right, how could I forget?” Steve asked, laughing again. They both stayed quiet for a stretch of time, just enjoying the silence and the feeling of freedom that came with telling the truth. “Why were you really in Berlin when we met?”

“Hm?” Bucky turned towards him, “Oh, I was helping expand the regions a drug cartel moving throughout Europe. You?”

Steve let out a burst of laughter. “I was stopping that same drug cartel.” They both fell into a fit of laughter, hands still entwined together between them.

“My last name isn’t actually Smith,” Bucky told him, getting a tired look from Steve.

“And you let me take your name?! Christ, Buck. What’s your real name?”

“It was your idea. My last name is Barnes. James Buchannan Barnes.”

“Well, at least that sounds better. But Steve Barnes?” he asked, humming. “Well, I guess it’s better than Steve Smith.”

“And I never went to college. I joined Hydra when I was eighteen.”

“Wow. I didn’t go to Harvard. I went to art school.”

“Art school? Really?”

“Mmhm, for traditional sketching and painting. Did a bit of digital work, too. Then I joined the army for a few years until S.H.I.E.L.D recruited me.”

They continued on like that even as they both decided to go clean up and change into new clothes, telling each other the truth about themselves as they packed up the things they felt were important enough to keep and leaving what they felt was replaceable.

“So, what next?” Bucky asked, the both of them packed up and ready to go at the drop of a hat.

“Well, my way out is a boat under a false name in a private harbor off of Maine. What about you?”

Bucky stayed quiet, deciding that it was best to not answer. Even without speaking, Steve seemed to understand that Bucky didn’t exactly have the option of having a way out like Steve did. Hydra wasn’t like S.H.I.E.L.D, and anyone that wasn’t loyal to Hydra wasn’t worth keeping alive.

“To Maine, then.”

Bucky nodded and leaned in to press his lips to Steve’s with a soft smile. “To Maine.”

**Author's Note:**

> [The Foreign Intelligence Service (Russian: Служба Внешней Разведки Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki or SVR) is Russia's primary external intelligence agency. The SVR is the successor of the First Chief Directorate (PGU) of the KGB since December 1991.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foreign_Intelligence_Service_\(Russia\))


End file.
